


Wildest Imaginings

by theblindtorpedo



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Emotions, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Pillow Talk, THIS IS PURE SAP WHAT CAN I SAY, talk of marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblindtorpedo/pseuds/theblindtorpedo
Summary: “When I was a young man I liked to imagine what it would be like to be married."
Relationships: Archibald Haddock/Tintin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	Wildest Imaginings

**Author's Note:**

> i was in a mood what can i say

He awakes in a familiar place: curled up against a broad chest, face pressed into the crook of his lover's neck, and the deep smell of his Captain hanging about him like a cloak of protection. Tintin finds his arm is wrapped around his Captain’s torso and he uses it to leverage himself to shift closer, pressing his own chest against thick hair that tickles lightly, and his Captain is definitely awake for he minutely starts before settling again into Tintin’s embrace. Tintin lets his eyes creep open and past the ruffled edges of the Captain’s beard, indigo in the night, through the tall windows the moon hangs high over the trees surrounding Marlinspike. Tintin feels suspended in time, a droplet hovering on the edge of a pitcher, about to splash back into a river rushing towards another adventure, but for now his universe is utterly beautiful and still.

There is a hand on his head, gentle but sure, curling lightly along the line of his hair. His Captain is humming. Tintin does not recognize the song, although he feels as if he does, as if the melody is a fruit grown from ancestral roots he never could visualize, bearing fruit whose juice is sweet with nostalgia. His Captain likely does not realize the effect the song has on someone of his circumstance. In a way he has been more adrift than his Captain, an orphan with no resting place. Not until now. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing, lad. Sorry for waking you.”

Tintin pounds a fist against his lover’s chest, which makes his Captain chortle with affection, and a palm catches his wrist in playful self-defence. His Captain’s hands are marked with old callouses, the echo of a rough texture that Tintin can tell has softened like leather since his promotion meant he no longer partook in the daily strenuous work of the deck crew. Tintin also knows that his Captain is not the type to distance himself completely from the work, connected so to a ship in body and soul; he remembers the gale aboard the Aurora and how his Captain readily took control of the wheel, as chipper as a schoolboy on summer holiday.

“When you were younger is this what you imagined your life would be like?“ Tintin thinks his question rhetorical, cannot help a slight bitterness seeping through, a tripping guilt that he has pulled his Captain away from his truest calling, but his Captain responds with earnest, as he always does.

“Of a sort.”

“You’re not one to speak in riddles. Be frank.”

His Captain does not fully oblige. “When I was a young man I liked to imagine what it would be like to be married. Kept most of those thoughts to myself, I’ll be honest. It was the done thing to speak of courting, but if you were too enthusiastic your mates would look at you funny.”

“I don’t see what marriage has to do with our current situation. Anyway, if they teased you for being a romantic I don’t think they were very good mates,” Tintin replies, the last word catching on his tongue when he drops in the English, strange in its shades of masculinity and male camaraderie. Tintin had never known such things.

“No, they were right to do so, could never be much use to anyone when I was off daydreaming.”

“Some would say a romantic side is appealing.”

His Captain smiles then and shakes his head as if in disbelief, which irks Tintin who responds by grabbing at his Captain’s face so they might lock eyes and Tintin can express his defiance towards his Captain’s usual deprecation. It is a terrific mistake, for he is not prepared for what he finds there. His Captain’s eyes, as blue as the sea he loves so much, are overflowing with adoration, raw and ripe. It freezes him.

His Captain takes pity and swoops to capture his lips in a kiss.

“Tell me,” Tintin breathes, “What kind of marriage did you imagine?”

“A wedding on the moor, flowers in the air, I would have saved up for months to show my dedication in rings. And afterwards, return to a house that I had built with my own hands.”

“You’re not a carpenter.”

“I suppose I thought if I loved someone enough I could be. I knew even then I didn’t have much to offer, you see, a sailor away most of the year and at the time a man of little money or status. So, if i could not offer myself completely I’d offer a home.”

 _A poor substitute. A place is not a home without you_ , Tintin thinks to say, but the sentimentality of it stays his hand. Instead he says:

“Did you have a specific partner in mind?”

“I’ll not lie and say there wasn’t a lass involved, but never a specific one. I was quite smitten with the lass who lived in my head: fair-haired, sunkissed skin, apple-round cheeks, and mouth as enchanting as a faerie.”

“Go on.”

“What more is there to say, Tintin? You know the rest. When a certain journalist fell into my porthole that night, well, that was never part of my imaginings, but I knew then.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. If you’d never come to me I’d have gone to my grave in love with you and never regretted a moment of it.”

“Don’t say such things,” Tintin pleads once again burying his face against his Captain’s body, for it is too much, this level of devotion is not something he had ever imagined, ever deserved. In truth it frightens him, for before Tintin did not think of himself as something treasured by others, friends or lovers, respect was all he required. Now this man had shown him how to love, that such an action was admirable, even preferable. Tintin still knew he faltered at plumbing the depth of his emotions, so accustomed to being smothered, and now surrounded by so many people to love he staggers back and forth, not quite setting firm foot, like walking in the moon suit, but there was his Captain always there to tether him.

“If i could marry you I would.”

Tintin keens then and his Captain rolls over so he is above him, weight held on his knees, so both hands can cup Tintin’s face and kiss him thoroughly. Tintin loops his arms around his Captain’s neck, opening himself in all the ways he can. It lasts for only a few glorious minutes, until, against his will, Tintin breaks free with a yawn. Morpheus taps at their door, waiting impatiently to resume his duties. Tintin squirms in annoyance, attempts to initiate another kiss, but his Captain has already pulled away.

“To sleep, mon cher. I know for a fact you have a meeting with your editor in the morning.”

“Alright,” Tintin concedes, awash with too much exhaustion to fight his Captain for sparking passion in the witching hour. He closes his eyes and feels the thump of another body falling beside him.

“Sweet dreams.”

Tintin does not believe any dream could be sweeter than this reality.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if this was too cheesy and therefore OOC. i'm not used to writing Tintin as so passive and it didn't feel 100% right, but I had EMOTIONS and needed to PUT THEM SOMEWHERE.
> 
> Anyway, comments and kudos still very much appreciated.
> 
> Shoutout to the Haddotin discord server. :)
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](www.augustinremi.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](www.twitter.com/seccotines).


End file.
